


Just Another Day

by ellay_gee



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, but i tagged it to be on the safe side, but it's only vaguely described, but its really not that crazy, but you don't see him, like you know its happening, mentions noctis, mentions of dubcon and noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 15:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellay_gee/pseuds/ellay_gee
Summary: promdyn week day six; personal MT.Ardyn is not happy when his personal MT accompanies him to a soiree and does exactly what he's asked. Because Ardyn is a dick like that.





	Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started a muuuch much different piece, but quickly learned that was going to turn into a multi chapter nightmare of awesomocity and craziness, so you guys will see that at a later date. Anywho, getting this in just under the wire. I hope. Im pretty sure its still saturday somewhere. Enjoy!

Life as Chancellor Izunia’s personal MT was…

It was…

Well, it was interesting to say the least.

Most days were the same.  He stood watch just inside the Chancellor’s door for hours on end, permitted to move only when his master requested something of him.  Generally those tasks included simple things such as retrieving his meals from the cafeteria, reading reports aloud to him, or tidying up the office space.  These chores he did not mind.

However, the chancellor frequently required ‘duties not outlined in the original training, but necessary nonetheless’.  Those…those were less pleasant for him, and often caused him to malfunction and require correction.

These transgressions did not seem to particularly perturb his master; in fact, the man took great pleasure in the correction itself, and would sometimes punish him even when he did not do something to warrant it. 

But, he supposed it was better than the alternative.  Other failed MT’s ended up permanent lab experiments or worse, incinerated.  He was lucky Chancellor Izunia took a liking to him.  He was allowed a small cot to sleep on when not sharing his master’s bed, and provided real sustenance; not the prepackaged flavorless things others like him were forced to eat.  He was even given a name, though his master said it was only because his numerical designation was too long to bother with.

Yes.  He was lucky.

 

* * *

 

He was first told of his malfunctions when he was in his fifth year of training.  He was what the commander of his unit called ‘fidgety’, and was caught numerous times in formation tapping his feet or drumming his fingers against his thigh.  The commander would pull him out of line and correct him severely in front of the others and do the same to any of them that showed a reaction to his screams.

But, his actual training scores were always sufficient.  In fact, he ranked in the top five in his unit in stamina, speed, and accuracy. Had the military been interested in regular soldiers, he probably would have done quite well within their ranks.

Unfortunately, the daemonic miasma they tried to infuse him with did not take.  His body violently rejected the substance, leaving him something akin to human. And that had been both his downfall and possible saving grace, depending on how you looked at it.

At any rate, his appearance allowed Chancellor Izunia to sneak his personal MT into a soiree at the Insomnia Citadel without anyone batting an eye.

The weeks leading up to the event had been simultaneously the most confusing and the easiest days he’d ever spent with his master.  The chancellor had had him measured and clothes made for him; had not only allowed him to eat at the table proper, but had educated him on which forks to use when and where his water glass was supposed to go.

He also taught him how to dance, and when they swayed together to the music, his master held him gently like he did occasionally when he was very very drunk.

And, even though he had dropped a total of two water glasses and three plates in his nervousness; even though he stepped on the chancellor’s toes numerous times, he was not corrected.  A gentle admonishment was all he received and it felt odd.  Good, almost.

He should have known that these niceties were only going to be for a short lived time.

How stupid of him to believe otherwise.

Stupid, _defective_ Prompto.

 

* * *

 

“Negotiations are going well.  And, by well, I do mean according to plan.”  Ardyn flicked his eyes up to the trembling boy before him, the light from the monitor playing across his face softly.  He sneered.  “There was just one little hiccup that I need to deal with, a wrinkle to smooth out, if you will.”

Prompto knew what was coming, and would have begun to prepare himself for correction, but he was too afraid of not following the chancellor’s specific orders, and he’d not given him any further commands than to stand where he currently was. He’d not followed the rules given before the soiree, and his master was angry.  Very angry.

He smartly looked to the floor as the older man approached, his air of hostility and rage filling the room like a dark mist.  When he spoke, it was with the usual purple prose and smarmy tone that set Prompto’s mind on alert.  “If you live long enough, you see the same eyes on different people.”  Ardyn circled the trembling blond, slowly removing his beloved hat and one of his scarves.  “Take that wayward pup you befriended tonight; the little snot of a prince.” His voice dripped venom and sex and hate and for several long seconds Prompto lost the ability to breathe.  “He has the same eyes of his great grandmother;” the chancellor stopped in front of the MT and lightly ghosted a hand along his jaw. “I was by her side when she died.  It was glorious to watch the light leave them; to see those midnight blues fade away and go dull.”

A threat was implied there, but Prompto was unsure as to exactly what the man was promising.  He desperately wanted to protest the accusations his master presented. He’d certainly not made _friends_ with the crown prince; he’d simply been polite when spoken to and danced when asked. Both of these things were what the chancellor had told him to do if the prince or any of his retinue approached him. 

His lips were barely beginning to form the words of defense before he was sent reeling by the back of the chancellor’s hand.

“ _Don’t try to deny it, boy._ ”

So Prompto didn’t.  He took his correction like he was supposed to; he removed his clothes for the chancellor and retrieved the man’s favorite whip. He got to his knees and faced the wall, attempting to hold in his screams as agonizing new stripes were laid across old ones.  When the chancellor was done with that and dragged him by his hair to the large bed and threw him facedown atop it, he dared not let out a squeak of protest.

And when the chancellor crawled atop him to give him a rough reminder of just who owned him, he tried not to let his mind wander back to pleasant memories; that rarely helped out when Ardyn was like this.

But…he couldn’t help himself.  The dance with Prince Noctis had been nice. He’d felt warm, and safe, and even a little admired.

So, with all his strength, he held onto the softness of that scene as he accepted his lot in life.

Life as Chancellor Izunia’s personal MT was…

It was…

Horrific.


End file.
